The River Bend
by saltedshotgun
Summary: Dean's first weeks in Purgatory.


**The River Bend  
**Dean, marginally Castiel, Benny. Gen.  
**  
**_Summary:_ Dean's first weeks in Purgatory.  
_Notes:_ Fic is unbeta'd, english is not my first language.  
_Disclaimer: _I only wish they were mine.

* * *

The first night, Dean runs. Out of breath and terrified like he hasn't been for a long time, stumbling through a forest that smells rotten and is quiet like death. Not even Hell has ever been this silent.

When he finally stops, wiping away the blood streaming down his face, his side throbs from running too long and too fast. He is alone.

"Cas?" he says after a beat. The words ring in the dark and silence like a shot, like a scream. Dean swallows. He has been alone for a while, for hours at least, ever since they got here and Cas disappeared as if he had never been there at all. It still terrifies him, surprises him, shocks him.

"Cas, wherever you went I think it's time for you to come back," Dean says, breathing heavily through his nose, straining his ears for a flutter of wings, or for any signs of anything else closing in on him.

There's nothing.

Dean starts running again and doesn't really stop for days.

* * *

The first time Dean sleeps, he is actually more unconscious. He's used to running on very little rest but after hours, after days, of constant alertness and fighting, he's more than ready to crash.

If only he weren't so scared to.

He climbs up a tree. It's the only thing he can think of that makes him feel at least a little safer then passing out on the cold ground, even though he knows it shouldn't. There isn't a single place where he would be safe, not a single thing he can do to protect himself. He tangles himself up in the thick branches.

"Cas, where the fuck are you?" he whispers, sucking in a shaky breath.

The last thing on Dean's mind is Cas and hoping that he's faring better than Dean is right now.

* * *

There is a gash on his side, bleeding steadily. Dean's is leaning against a tree, his arm pushed against the wound. He's panting and gasping, alternately from the pain and the adrenaline wearing off.

"Fuck," he gasps out. "Shit." He has no way and no time to treat himself. He pushes against the injury and his palm comes away bloody.

"Damn it," he mutters and pushes himself off the tree, falling into hitching, slow steps. "Dammit Cas," he curses under his breath. "I would really, really give anything to have you here right now. Ah, fuck."

He stops, limps over to another tree and collapses by its roots. "This is it." He chokes out a laugh, bitter and weary. "This's got to be it, man. I pass out now and something comes around and eats me, and I won't even know about it."

There is no answer. No sound of flapping feathers, no steps coming towards him, no help in sight. Dean isn't sure why he still hopes, why he still waits, but he does. Every single time.

"I hope you're safe, at least," Dean mutters as his eyes slip closed. He knows he'll be better when he wakes up – if he wakes up, but that's a risk he has no choice but to take – because he always is, somehow. It has to be a Purgatory thing, he thinks; death being temporary, injuries healing fast but still being as painful as ever. Maybe even more.

"I hope you're alive, you son of a bitch," Dean whispers, and as he has for the past few weeks, he passes out with Cas's name on his tongue.

* * *

"I pray, alright? I pray to you, Castiel, to get your ass here, right the fuck now. I could really use your help, you know? So wherever you went, just come back."

* * *

Purgatory is just a giant battlefield, and Dean is getting better at handling it. He's faster, stronger, all lean muscles and strong tendons. He would be really fucking smug about it, too, if there was anyone around to boast to.

The shifter that came out of nowhere a few minutes ago swings its arm, and Dean dodges its claws easily.

He thinks of Sam, but Sam feels like a dream now, something surreal and unreachable. It hurts and Dean concentrates on slicing the shifter's head off instead.

It's an ugly thing, all sharp angles and dark, sticky skin. Head too big for its body and limbs too long to move with any efficiency. Dean snaps its arm, or its front leg – he can't tell – and then its jaw with the handhold of the blade he found. The shifter staggers back, howling in pain, and Dean lashes out for its throat.

That's it. There's a dull crack, a choked off noise and the sensation of blood running down Dean's arm.

It feels incredible.

As he walks away, Dean thinks, 'You see that, Cas? I'm killing monsters with my bare hands. And I'm really fucking good at it. And I love it.'

* * *

If Dean counts correctly, it's been two months since they ganked Dick and got themselves into this mess. It's one of those nights when Dean goes without sleeping, just sits and waits for it to pass. He plays with his knife and waits for the darkness to go away so that he can start running nowhere again.

"It's weird, really," he says. All his words are always directed at Cas now, even when he's still not here. He's the only one who might be listening. "The nights are always calm and quiet... Up there, it was the other way around. It was darkness you should have been afraid of, not day time."

He stops to listen for a second.

"Cas, where the hell are you?" he says when he hears nothing. "I'm – I used to be pissed at you, for disappearing on me like that, but man, now I'm just worried. I'd pray to God that you're safe but I don't think he listens, not here. Not to me. But you always have, Cas. You always have, so I'm praying to you, alright? I am. Just... If you can hear me, if you're out there, just..."

Dean closes his eyes and waits. Still, after all this time, he waits for something, anything to happen.

Nothing does.

"I'll find you," Dean says finally, after minutes of listening to nothing and hoping for something that most likely won't ever happen again. "Even if I have to scour this whole fucking place and turn it upside down, I'll find you and I won't stop until I do. I swear, man. I swear."

* * *

Few days later, before he slices a werewolf's throat, it laughs. It's a sharp, short sound. "You won't find it," it says.

Dean's fists tighten, one around his weapon, the other around the creature's throat. "Come again?"

"The angel. You won't find it," the werewolf repeats.

"What do you know about the angel?" Dean snaps at it, pushing it harder against the tree.

"Not much," the werewolf says.

Dean bares his teeth and growls at the back of his throat. "Where is he?" he asks. His fingers dig a little deeper into the werewolf's flesh.

"I don't know," it says, eyes hard and amused on Dean's. "Somewhere out there. You're not the only one looking for it."

Dean's head pounds with the rush of blood, adrenalin and excitement. In retrospective, he realizes he should have questioned the creature longer, milk it for every possible piece of information it might have on Cas.

Instead, Dean smirks. "If you say so," he says and releases the hand around the werewolf's neck for long enough to cut it's head off.

"So you're alive, you bastard," Dean mutters and wipes the spit from his cheek, kicking the werewolf's head away.

* * *

He meets Benny shortly after. The strange vampire with even stranger accent that tells him there's a way out, and that Dean is the key.

He could get out, now, only bringing a single vampire with him – a vampire he could gank the second he was topside. He could see Sam again.

Then he thinks of Cas, _somewhere out there,_ alone, and he just... Can't.

"First we find the angel," he says, pointing his blade at the vampire in front of him.

"Three's a crowd, chief," it replies and Dean smirks.

"Hey," he says, lips twitching in a smile that feels entirely too alien on his face. "Either you're in, or you're out."

And that's that.


End file.
